Journey's End
by Lil black dog
Summary: Written over a year ago for Anna Amuse.  A companion piece to her heartwrenching story 'Should I Fall Behind.'  Hadn't decided until now to post it.  Written from Spock's POV.


A/N: Written for Anna Amuse over a year ago, this is a companion piece to her heartwrenching story 'Should I Fall Behind.' Hadn't decided until now to post it. Written from Spock's POV.

Beta: None whatsoever on this piece. With the exception of Anna, only two others have read it to date. Please direct all complaints to me. ;-)

**Journey's End**

We are in the briefing room – all four of the _Enterprise's _senior officers. He is speaking to all of us in his quiet, resolute, measured tones, but uncharacteristically, I am not listening attentively. He and I have discussed this already, in private.

'_It's a suicide mission, Spock, and Command knows it.'_

'_And you have the right to refuse.'_

'_Yes. The right. But what about the responsibility not to? What about my oath? My promise to serve in whatever capacity I am needed, no matter the personal cost?'_

'_You have been a tireless and selfless servant for the last twenty-five years. There are many more productive years of service ahead of you. Would that not also be a waste of your undeniable talent, a betrayal of your oath, to deprive Starfleet and the Federation of your future contributions to their cause?'_

This is also an atypical sentiment for me and he knows me too well, knows me better than any other being in the universe, to not see through the thinly veiled raw feeling nestled at the core of this statement. This is not just legitimate concern for him, but selfishly for myself as well. Over the last twelve years, we have become closer than brothers, yin to each others' yang, able to complete each others' thoughts, anticipate each others' moves. If he were to do this, and events were to play out as expected, it would mean leaving me behind, and I am not entirely sure I could bear it. It is not so much that I have need of his presence, that I would be incapable of functioning without it, but that we have become so much a part of each other that if he were gone, it would be like losing half of my soul; in some ways, the better half of my soul.

For you see, it was this man who taught me how to live; the value of friendship and a common purpose. That despite the strict teachings of my youth, sometimes emotion, channeled and controlled properly, can win out over logic. Can come up with a totally illogical and irrational plan that somehow manages to remedy what was thought to be an untenable position. This man has made a career out of doing this, and along the way has helped me to realize its value, without censuring me or my core beliefs, but showing me, teaching me, gently encouraging me to combine the two, stronger together than each is separately.

This could be a metaphor for our lives.

I am brought out of these musings by McCoy, who is not loudly questioning Jim's motives and decisions as usual, but is watching me, looking at me as if seeing a ghost. For I too, have been unusually silent, not protesting the parameters of the mission or the captain's superficial arguments justifying his stance on the matter, and McCoy is plainly disturbed by that. I can see him trying to grasp the reason for my silence, and again, unexpectedly, I cannot find it within myself to be annoyed at him for doing so. For he and Jim also share a special bond, as do the doctor and I where Jim is concerned. We came to an understanding many years ago that it was our mission, our divine purpose, to ensure that Jim survived; to protect him whenever possible from his sometimes irrational tendency to act first and think later. So far, we have been successful in this tacit endeavor.

But that is bound to change with this mission.

It is as if McCoy has come to this conclusion already, subconsciously, even if he is unaware of it on the surface as of yet.

I still am bound by this overwhelming desire to protect Jim, to shield him from harm as I have done many times in the past, and will continue to do as long as I am able. But I do not flatter myself; there is little to nothing I can do even should I accompany him on this mission to change the outcome. Over the years, we have made a habit out of beating the odds, but there comes a time when the probability of that happening yet again is astronomical.

This time.

And in spite of that, I still wish to offer my services. It is my duty, and my right.

'_You – you belong at his side, as if you've always been there and always will be.'_

He is already aware of my wishes concerning this matter. It was already discussed in his quarters earlier. Not with words. Not with thoughts. But with that rapport that has been between us for some time now that makes words unnecessary. And yet, my meaning was as clear as if I had voiced it out loud. And his answer was just as clear: _Don't decide yet, my friend. Think on it; ruminate for a time. Analyze it both logically and emotionally, and when you have reached a decision, we'll discuss it. _A magnanimous gesture on his part, but completely unnecessary. For one of the things I learned from him over the years is that sometimes the best and most profound decisions are made in an instant – in a flash of intuition – and to second-guess a decision of this nature will only diminish its effectiveness. I saw in his eyes that he realized this, too, and was humbled, and appreciative, but the unspoken order still stood. We would not decide now, just yet. There would be time for that, still.

Once again, I am drawn out of these thoughts to land firmly in the here-and-now. Jim and Mr. Scott have hammered out all the details: the equipment which will be needed, the native clothing and such, and the meeting is almost over, Jim's resolve palpable and formidable. So I take this opportunity to voice in front of witnesses the content of our non-discussion from earlier.

"Captain, request permission to join you." Unconsciously, I hold my breath, awaiting his answer. In spite of everything, he is still my captain, my commanding officer, and he knows I will do whatever he asks of me, even if it is completely contrary to what I have recommended, in direct conflict with my personal opinion on the matter. I will acquiesce to his wishes. From the very beginning of our professional relationship, our initial, tentative friendship, and in all the years since, where our affinity, our personal bond has grown, become many-layered and multi-faceted, I have never been able to say 'no' to this man.

And he knows it.

And so it is that I await his decision. He has expressed in the past his very real and visceral fear of dying alone. But he is not the type of man who would choose to allow me to accompany him out of something as base and petty as assuaging his own, private demons. He will weigh it, and measure it, analyzing many variables in a split-second of insight. The effect on the ship, the crew, and my parents, not to mention McCoy, if we were both to fail to return from this venture. He will consider the personal cost to me as well, if he does not allow me to do this.

And I am waiting, none-too-patiently, for his verdict.

He graces me with a most unusual smile, the nature of which I have never seen before, and says simply, 'Permission granted.' No argument, no counterpoint, but a direct, succinct reply. He knows as I do that all that was needed to be expressed between us had been done earlier in his cabin. All that remains is the mission itself. Nodding at my captain, I get hastily to my feet and head for my quarters.

oooOOOooo

It is now later in the evening, and Jim and I seek out McCoy. He is still in his office, the double shift he has just pulled making him crankier than usual. Alcohol is broken out and offered, and I relent and accept a glass. As to what we discuss, that is a private matter between the three of us, not to be shared. After an hour I retreat, leaving the two of them on their own.

I understand completely that Jim needs this time alone with the doctor – it was not something he had to tell me. This will be both his farewell to our sometimes gruff and abrasive friend, as well as the only apology he can offer. I am fully aware that this will hit McCoy hard – as is his wont, he will spend a number of years being angry at both of us, and blaming Jim, me, Starfleet, the Admiralty, even the universe itself, for putting us in this situation. But most of what he feels will be sorrow and regret – that he recognized too late the true nature of the mission, and was unable to prevent it. This is who he is at the core of his being. Gentle, compassionate, and extremely protective of those people he sees as falling into his personal sphere of influence. This encompasses Jim and myself, all the members of the crew, anyone currently on board the _Enterprise_ in whatever capacity, and even persons of an alien species he has only just met on landing party duty. In some ways, Leonard McCoy sees himself as responsible for all life in the universe, just as James Kirk has been known to do on occasion. They are very much alike in that respect.

Uncomfortable with having this side of himself on display for all to see, McCoy endeavors to cover it with a gruffness and crotchetiness unrivaled by any other human I know. A petulance at times that would make a Tellarite proud. And he sees fit to condemn me for hiding my true self from the world…

But after many years, the wound will heal – not in the proper sense – it will transform slowly from an open and festering hole in his psyche to an ugly, scarred, permanently damaged piece of his soul. But eventually he will find it within himself to forgive Jim. Forgiving me is another matter altogether. He will feel that I reneged on our agreement. It is doubtful that he will one day recognize that this was my only option, the only choice open to me, and that in the end, I did fulfill my promise to protect Jim, but not in the way the good doctor envisioned.

oooOOOooo

It is the morning of the mission, and McCoy and Scott are already present as Jim and I enter the transporter room. Mr. Scott, in his own enigmatic way, has somehow come to the conclusion that this will be the last thing he can do for us, and his presence here expresses his solidarity with our decision, for he is certainly not a man given to sentimentality.

McCoy on the other hand, is quite another case. He _is_ sentimental, and possesses an uncanny intuition where his friends are concerned, although it is evident from my hasty glance in his direction that he is as yet unaware of what has compelled him to be here. He is particularly pale and drawn, and it has as much to do with his and Jim's escapades of the previous evening as it does with his as yet incognizant revelation that this will be the last time he will see either of us.

I step to the console, as much to provide Mr. Scott with the proper coordinates and last-minute instructions, as to afford the doctor and the captain a last moment together.

"Ready, Captain," I state, and the two of us head for the platform. My gaze travels quickly to my CO – my friend, and suddenly, it is as if we are alone here; nothing else matters, nothing but the fact that we are here, together, as we go to face certain oblivion.

He stops and favors me with a ghost of his usual smile, and I am unable to inhibit my reaction. Placing a hand lightly on his forearm, I take a small step back, bowing my head, a whispered, "Captain" escaping from my lips. It is meant as a benediction, a salute, an indication of my utmost respect for him, a thank-you – so many meanings are conveyed in that one, simple word.

And true to form, he understands me completely, a heartfelt 'thank you, Spock,' his only reply.

We hold the moment for a beat, and then step onto the pads. 'Energize, Scotty,' he calls, and I automatically lean toward him, a final surge of protectiveness I am willing to permit myself.

Two hours later, the situation turns dire, and I realize that this time there will be no defeating the odds. Our journey will end here, now, in this place. Instinctively, I reach for his hand…


End file.
